


In Need of Assistance

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Ridiculous magical bondage, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Most wizards, Prompto knows, are not the sort to tie you up in a sentient wardrobe and ruin your life just because they need a second pair of hands.Mostwizards use the newspaper. Most wizards call on the king in the Citadel for one of the pages in training to serve as an apprentice, or pick an orphan off the street--A proper orphan, like Prompto's friend Noct, who he's ninety percent sure is a lost prince in disguise--or a seventh son of a seventh son. Most wizards have the common sense they were born with.Ardyn Izunia, however, isnotmost wizards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme!

Most wizards, Prompto knows, are not the sort to tie you up in a sentient wardrobe and ruin your life just because they need a second pair of hands. _Most_ wizards use the newspaper. Most wizards call on the king in the Citadel for one of the pages in training to serve as an apprentice, or pick an orphan off the street--A proper orphan, like Prompto's friend Noct, who he's ninety percent sure is a lost prince in disguise--or a seventh son of a seventh son. Most wizards have the common sense they were born with.

Ardyn Izunia, however, is _not_ most wizards. He stands in front of Prompto, a hand on his chin, and strokes the day old stubble on his jaw. Prompto, in the meantime, pretty much hangs there. His hands are bound behind him by what he thinks are a pair of spotted leather pants, his left foot is twisted up in a vest magically tied to a cravat, and his waist is suspended off the floor by a knotted network of accordion shirts, lace, and what looks suspiciously like a silk cape. So it isn't like he has much of a choice.

"Oh, dear," Ardyn says.

"I can explain," Prompto says, which is true. He _can_ explain. Except he doesn't think his explanation-- _So, maybe I owe the thieves guild my tithe for the past three months and I thought I'd grab a copper-to-gold spell from your closet_ \--is technically going to fly. 

Ardyn seems to figure that out, too, so he doesn't ask. Instead, he looks Prompto over, glances down at the glass flasks spilled on the floor, and sighs.

"That's five hundred copper pieces you owe me," he says at last, and Prompto swallows a groan of horror. "I sincerely hope that mine is not the first house on your list tonight."

"Kind of is," Prompto says. 

Ardyn gives him another searching look. "You aren't cursed, are you?"

"What? No? I don't think so."

"Any royalty in your family?" Prompto shakes his head. "Blacksmiths? Farmers?"

"My dad cleaned ships," Prompto says. "I don't know what my mom did. I think she was a tailor."

"So no one passed on any amulets when you were young?" Ardyn asks. "No talking animals have approached you about a dubious destiny of any sort?"

Prompto shrugs. "I think my best friend might be a prince," he says.

"Well, heroism by association is happily not a problem," Ardyn says. "Very well. You, my dear..."

"Prompto."

"Prompto," Ardyn continues, "will work for me for, oh, three months. That's the going rate, I believe. At the end of that time, you'll have paid off your debt in full, and you'll be sent out in the world with a marketable trade. Won't that be nice?"

Prompto rotates slightly in the tangle of clothing.

"Or you can stay there," Ardyn says. "Your choice."

It isn't, really, and they both know it. Prompto looks up at the ceiling, pretending to weigh his options, and finally nods.

"Alright," he says. "But I'm not murdering anyone for you."

"I'm not that sort of wizard, Prompto," Ardyn says, and the clothes release Prompto immediately, dropping him to the ground with a thud. He rolls, kicking off a cravat that still won't let go, and checks himself for bruises. Above him, Ardyn is a disaster in florals, his long wizard's cape flowing at his ankles. 

"You can start by putting away my clothes," Ardyn says, and turns on his heel.

Prompto gets to his knees and gingerly picks up the spotted pants. Only the cravat continues to give him trouble, and by the time he wrestles it into submission, there's a light flickering in the other room.

So far, Prompto hasn't really gone more than a few steps past the foyer. He picked Ardyn's house because there are little copper birds dangling from the windowsill outside, which come to life and chitter at people passing by on the street. He figured, then, that anyone who could make something so beautiful, so delicate, was probably a master at the craft.

He hadn't considered that they also spelled their closets.

Prompto slams the closet door shut and slips out into the next room. It looks like it used to be a sitting room, once, but it's full of glass and copper and brass now, trays full of vials, shelves of sand and pebbles in glass jars, and the perfect model of a dragon, made out of plates of interlocking wood. Prompto approaches it, reaching out a hand for the horns at the top of its head, and the dragon nearly snaps his fingers off.

"Careful," Ardyn says. "She bites."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Prompto says, giving the dragon a wide berth. Ardyn is standing over a table, where a pile of brass, salt, twisted pieces of paper, and a lump of ginger sit on the chalk outline of a star. Ardyn blows on the mess, and it all stirs together, taking shape into a ball of light the size of Ardyn's fist.

"I'll need you to lay your hand on this," Ardyn says, holding out the ball to Prompto. Prompto narrows his eyes. "It's a contract."

Prompto touches the ball. It's smooth, almost silken, like fine cloth pulled taut over a lightbulb. 

"You, Prompto," Ardyn says, "do hereby swear not to steal from me, betray me, or run away before your contract is ended in three month's time."

Prompto's tongue feels like it's stuck to the roof of his mouth. "I swear," he says.

"And I swear not to kill you," Ardyn says, "or do something unspeakable, like turn you into a frog."

The ball disappears, and Prompto staggers a bit, thrown back by a sudden burst of wind. "You can actually turn people into frogs?" he asks.

"Yes, hypothetically," Ardyn says. "But all that mass has to go somewhere, doesn't it? So more like fifty frogs, in the end."

Prompto winces. "Yikes."

Ardyn crosses his arms, leaning against his desk. He's not exactly old, from what Prompto can tell, maybe reaching his forties, but he has that sort of agelessness that all witches and wizards have. Even Noct is getting it, and he's only twenty, same as Prompto. Prompto wonders exactly how long Ardyn's been in the game, if he can just whip up a spell like Prompto would pick a pocket. 

"Do you have _any_ experience with magic?" Ardyn asks. Prompto shrugs, and Ardyn smiles a little. "Excellent. I always wanted an apprentice who isn't already influenced by outside sources. Now. Let me introduce you to your new home." He swept his hand out to the room at large. "My workroom. Touch nothing here without my permission. You already became acquainted with the foyer. The kitchen is..." Ardyn cranes his head around a door, and Prompto follows him, grimacing. 

"A disaster," Prompto says, eyeing the high stack of dishes, the unused stove, and the half melted candles all over the counter.

"I'd say it has character," Ardyn says. "Can you cook? Wonderful, because you will. The bathroom is beyond here--then the yard, where my forge is--and the bedroom is... Ah. A second bedroom."

Prompto watches Ardyn for a moment as the wizard hovers on the stairs, looking up at the second floor hallway.

"How do you feel about attics?" Ardyn asks.

"Better than the street," Prompto says, and Ardyn smiles faintly.

"Then congratulations are in order," Ardyn says. "You are now the proud denizen of an attic room."

The attic isn't that bad, really. Ardyn teaches Prompto a rudimentary spell to clean out an old mattress-- _Anyone can master this, Prompto, even someone like you, with a magical aura that best resembles mud_ \--and he throws a handful of glass spheres into the air, which glow with a warm, steady light. Prompto lays out on the mattress and worries a sore tooth with his tongue. Sure, Ardyn did try to strangle him with his clothes in the beginning, but if all he wants is for Prompto to cook and clean up a little, maybe it won't be so bad. A few months off the streets, with a mattress under him and a roof over him, not to mention the promise of regular meals, is definitely worth living with a wizard. No question.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompto wakes to buns in his face.

They're magnificent buns, in Ardyn's defense. Warm and buttery and browned just right, with crisp, fatty bacon shoved in the middle. The fact that they're floating in mid-air is a bit of a problem, but Prompto solves that by grabbing them both and squashing them in his mouth.

Charmed food is just as delicious as stolen food, in Prompto's opinion. Better, even, because down in the sewers, where he and Noct are holed up with the self-proclaimed King of Thieves, they only get fresh buns after a successful heist. Prompto wanders down the stairs, still chewing, and finds Ardyn drinking coffee from a paper cup.

"I need to go to the market today," Prompto says. Ardyn rolls his eyes. "Gotta tell my friends I'm alright."

"Yes, that's what you'll be doing," Ardyn says. "Your apprenticeship starts today, so you'll be a bit preoccupied. I'll have any messages you need delivered." He waves a hand, and one of the birds Prompto admired on the windowsill lands on his palm. "Tell it who you want to speak to and what you need to say."

Prompto stares at the bird. The bird stares back. "Noctis," Prompto says. He lowers his voice to a whisper, eyeing Ardyn. "Just Noctis. Dark hair, blue eyes, probably a prince, lives under the grate on twelfth street. I want him to know that I'm okay, and if I don't show up in three months, he needs to set Wizard Izunia's house on--"

"End message," Ardyn says, and the bird takes off, feathers gleaming. "Honestly, Prompto, you'd think we only met yesterday."

"We _did_ meet yesterday," Prompto points out, but Ardyn isn't listening. He gestures to the overflowing sink and drains the last of his coffee.

"You'll need to clear those out if you want to make lunch," Ardyn says. "I'm rather fond of roast, if you can manage."

He walks off and starts banging around in the living room, slamming spells on his desk with the air of a cook throwing leftovers in the pot. Prompto stares at him, then at the sink, and cautiously approaches the pile of plates and cups. He touches a plate with the tips of his fingers, and it wails in a thin, high voice.

"Oh, I'm so dirty!" it cries.

"We're dirty!" the dishes moan, in a terrible chorus. "We're covered in filth!"

"Get us wet!" cries a bowl. 

"Pour that soapy water all over us!" calls a spoon.

"We're filthy! We're filthy!"

Prompto backs away. "Ardyn?" he asks. "Can you make them _stop?_ This is kind of... Seriously disturbing."

"Slather us in sponges!" a plate cries.

"Like that. _That_ level of disturbing."

Ardyn looks up from under half-lidded eyes. "They'll stop when they're clean," he says.

Prompto gives him a dubious look and goes back to the sink. He turns on the tap.

"Yes yes yes yes yes!" the dishes cry, their voices gurgling as the water level rises.

"Okay," Prompto says. "I get it. Calm down."

"Touch us!" a plate says when he picks it up. "Yes, put your hands on us. Rub us just r--"

Prompto shoves open the window and throws the plate into the yard, where it shatters on impact.

"I'm _broken!_ " it screams. "I'm filthy and I'm _broken!_ I'm filthy and I'm broken and alone!"

"Yep," Prompto says, and briskly turns off the tap. "I'm done." He pushes away from the sink, causing a minor outbreak of enchanted sobbing, and walks right past Ardyn, heading for the door. Ardyn sighs and waves a hand.

A cabinet at the far end of the room slams open with a bang, and Prompto has just enough time to run three and a half steps before a store's worth of ribbons wrap around his arms and legs. He hops, trips, and falls on his side in a tangle of brightly-colored ribbon, trussed up like a fly in a web, glaring daggers at Ardyn as he stalks close.

"Prompto," Ardyn says. "Really."

"I'm not getting hit on by a _plate,_ " Prompto says. "I can't believe those are words I just had to say. Who enchants plates? Why don't you just magic them clean?"

"A very good question," Ardyn says. "Do you remember the spell I showed you last night?"

Prompto lies there for a moment, staring at Ardyn's ridiculous, well-polished boots. "Mother _fu--_ "

"And to think I scoffed at the idea of taking on an apprentice," Ardyn says. "What greater joy is there than witnessing the daybreak of higher learning?" He snaps his fingers, and the ribbons slither off Prompto, crawling sheepishly back into the cabinet. Prompto picks himself up, still scowling, and marches over to the sink. He draws a circle around it with a finger, then glances back at Ardyn, who's watching him with obvious amusement from the door.

"Go on," Ardyn says. 

"Wibb Wobb," Prompto says, just like Ardyn instructed him, and blows on the mess. The scum clears up a little, but the dishes still need a rinse before they stop screaming.

"Sorry," he says to a bowl, shoving it under the tap. 

"I'm a fool for a pretty face," it says, and Prompto gives Ardyn a sharp look. Ardyn raises his hands.

" _I_ didn't teach it that."

In the end, Prompto does have to glue the broken plate back together. The plate whimpers while he does, and the spoons prove to be a bunch of disgusting little deviants when he rubs them dry, but they all finally shut up when he puts them away, clean and polished, where they're supposed to be. Then Prompto makes lunch, which is grilled cheese sandwiches, because that's what he has the energy for. Ardyn doesn't complain, but he does discreetly summon a cookbook to the newly-washed counter, where it lands with a flop.

"A summoning spell," Ardyn says, "is the most useful spell in your arsenal. You're a thief, though, so I'm not teaching you that one."

"Wow, thanks," Prompto says, dryly. Ardyn smiles.

"But here's something you can use," he says, and draws a circle on the tabletop. He taps the center of the circle three times, and after a moment, grabs Prompto's hand. The circle is warm, just a little too hot to be pleasant, and Prompto looks up at Ardyn, brows raised.

"Perfect for tea," Ardyn says, and Prompto jerks his hand back.

"I thought apprentices were supposed to, I don't know, sing to mermaids or make potions or something," he says.

"The talented ones, certainly," Ardyn says, and Prompto makes a face. "You know what I mean, Prompto. Omens over the cradle, talking foxes herding them into wardrobes, that sort of thing. Do you know how disruptive a highly magical chosen one can be when your spells require a delicate touch? Have you ever tried to mop up a year's worth of Un-Death spells in one afternoon? It's terror on the nerves, that much is true. I used to be a chosen man myself, back in the day, and now that I've kicked the hero's habit, so to speak, I'd much prefer the alternative."

"Let me guess," Prompto says, hand under his chin. "You were a prince. Or a lord. Or you were adopted by farmers."

"Adopted by bards, actually," Ardyn says. "But the rest is close enough." 

Prompto looks him over, trying to read him the way the King of Thieves would. He does hold himself like a performer, constantly easing himself into a pose whenever Prompto looks his way, but he has that tragic, stern jawline Prompto is starting to equate with the heroes stamped on newspaper ads and wanted posters. It seems like they're everywhere, these days. Lost princesses and cursed duchesses, hidden princes and thieving nobles, farmboys with suspiciously colorful eyes and an ancient sword. Prompto's only seen a handful so far, if Noct and Ignis count, but he can see something of an echo of them in Ardyn's face.

"Huh," he says. 

"Yes," Ardyn says. "My thoughts exactly." He gets up, adjusting his cloak, and twitches his hand at Prompto. "Up, apprentice."

"Why?" Prompto asks, warily rising to his feet. Ardyn smiles at him, and it's suddenly painfully easy to see him in a crown and ermine, flanked by dragons or talking sparrows. 

"You can't very well represent my shop dressed in rags," Ardyn says. "We're taking you to the tailor's. Also. Well. I only hope you can swim, because you may be getting your wish after all. The mermaids are in town again, and I know that I for one am _not_ ruining another pair of boots just for a few pearls."

"Good thing I'm already wearing rags, huh?" Prompto drawls, and Ardyn beams at him.

"Oh, I knew you'd catch on eventually," he says. "Just don't drown, and I'm sure you'll be fine."


	3. Chapter 3

The problem with mermaids, Prompto learns, as he slogs through ankle-deep seawater over the rocks by the bay, isn’t that they’re half fish. Their fish tails are actually pretty nice, all things considered, with delicate little fins that make him think of the betta fish the king of thieves used to try to look after when they were kids. No, the problem with mermaids is definitely their sense of hygiene. 

Or complete lack thereof. 

Fish bones crack under Prompto’s flimsy shoes and bits of scale make the rocks glitter as he passes. Bits of debris hang on fishing wire like the world’s worst window charms, half-eaten carcasses of marlin and barracuda swarm with flies, and despite the fact that they spend most of their time underwater, when the first mermaid rises to greet him and lets out a puff of warm air in his face, Prompto’s stomach heaves. 

“Too skinny,” she hisses, looking him up and down. “Not enough meat.”

“Wow, okay,” Prompto says, over the sudden realization that mermaid teeth are small and sharp and vicious, stacked row upon row like a shark’s. “Rude.” 

“What does it want?” she asks.

“He,” Prompto says. “And I’m here to pick up seven pearls for Ardyn Izunia. Right there,” he says, pointing to where Ardyn is lounging against a pillar on the dock. “The coward.”

The mermaid grins. Prompto wishes she wouldn’t. “Yes,” she says. “We know Ardyn. The king of kings. Lord of light. Bringer of the sword of eternity to the pillar of fire.”

They both look at Ardyn, who has pulled out a set of pipes and is examining them with the air of a sculptor. He blows a few idle notes, and the mermaid sighs.

“Yeah,” Prompto says. “That guy.”

“We have the pearls,” the mermaid says. Her tail is black as pitch, beautiful as a stone glimmering in the dark. “But we need payment.”

“He can spell the flies off for another month,” Prompto says, and pulls a small, twisted leather bag out of his pocket. The mermaid stares at it with the unwavering focus of a dog watching the path of a ball. Prompto takes a wary step back. “Pearls first.”

“Fine,” she hisses, “but tell him that he’ll need to find the sword soon. Darkness will reign without the king of kings to--”

“Uh huh.”

The mermaid grumbles to herself, holds two webbed hands up to her mouth, and coughs wetly. She hacks and sputters and gargles, spit and drool sliding over her fingers, and comes up with seven perfect, fat pearls nestled in the center of her palm. 

“Oh my gods,” Prompto says.

“The spell,” she hisses, thrusting her hands out to Prompto. “You promised.”

When Prompto climbs up onto the dock at last, shoes squelching, he sloshes over to Ardyn and wipes his hands on the front of Ardyn’s beautiful rose-patterned vest. 

“That,” he says, while Ardyn stares in dumbfounded shock, “was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.”

“There’s no need to be petty,” Ardyn says, in a voice that only sounds _half_ wounded. He runs a hand over his vest, and the mermaid’s slime disappears. “And the pearls?”

Prompto wordlessly hands him an oozing leather packet. Ardyn holds it pinched between his thumb and forefinger before lowering it carefully in his bag. “Well done,” he says. “Now, let’s see about getting you out of those horrible clothes.”

“They aren’t horrible,” Prompto protests, as he squeaks and squishes his way after Ardyn, water spraying from the soles of his boots. “At least they match.”

“Yes, they’re certainly all various shades of brown,” Ardyn admits, and Prompto rolls his eyes. 

Usually, when Prompto needs a new pair of pants or a shirt without holes, he goes to the donation bin in the back of the day market. It’s free, most of the clothes are pretty decent, if unwashed, and it’s right next to Mal’s Bread Hut, where bread is two loaves a penny, two and a half if Ignis is there. Ignis, for all that he’s the king of thieves and the kind of guy who will, and has, pulled a knife on a guy just for looking at him wrong, is a pretty big hit at the market. Something about his accent, probably. He might wear rags half the time, but he might as well be carrying around a sign saying, “Lost Heir to a Fiefdom, Please Befriend.” Even _dogs_ like him, which in Prompto’s opinion, is patently unfair, since he’s the one who leaves food outside their squat every morning.

But Ardyn doesn’t take Prompto to the daymarket. Instead, he takes a sharp left, right before Main Street, where all the posh shops and restaurants are, and strolls purposefully down the sidewalk, Prompto squishing awkwardly behind. The places here are all the sort of establishments that would call the guard at the mere sight of Prompto, and he can feel their stern, suspicious gazes sliding off him as he passes each bright, shining glass window. 

“Here we are,” Ardyn says. He stops at the door to a store called “Izunia and Izunia, Tailors at Large,” and swings it open to the sound of piercing shrieks. Prompto rocks on his heels, bracing himself on the sensible brick wall.

“Precious angel!” someone cries, and a small, heavyset woman barrels into Ardyn, arms outstretched. She’s a few shades darker than Ardyn, with a lovely full mouth and twinkling black eyes, but something about her smile is familiar, with that same sideways quirk Prompto sees in Ardyn, sometimes. She holds out her hands, and Ardyn dutifully bends down so she can squash his face between her palms.

“My handsome wizard,” she says. “Oh, Dahlia, look at our boy! Look at him!”

“I saw you three days ago, mother,” Ardyn says, casting a wary glance at Prompto. Prompto grins. “I haven’t--”

“I made olive bread!” someone shouts from inside the shop. “Come in, baby, come in!”

“Ah.” Ardyn staggers forward as his mother tries to drag him in by the face. “Prompto. If you will.”

“Oh, I’m not interrupting this,” Prompto says, still grinning. Ardyn’s mother looks him up and down, taking in his threadbare shirt and dripping boots, and purses her lips. 

“Shoes at the door,” she orders. Prompto sighs and slips off his boots, which he leaves in a sodden, miserable heap by the doorstep. He walks into the shop barefoot to find Ardyn being set upon by his mother and another dark-haired woman, who has on a beautiful cotton dress with fanciful embroidery that screams _roses!_

“Prompto,” Ardyn says, nodding to the woman still holding his face. “This is my mother, Jenine, and my mother, Dahlia. Mother, this is Prompto, my new assistant.”

“Oh, you are moving up in the world,” Jenine says, and releases him. There are a few shop attendants milling around in the distance, but by their bland, bored expressions, this isn't an unusual event. “Prompto, is it? What a strange name.”

 _So’s Ardyn,_ Prompto thinks, but he only smiles politely. “Thank you,” he says. “I found it myself. I thought you were raised by bards,” he tells Ardyn, who shrugs.

“Oh, we are bards, baby,” Dahlia says. “We just thought we ought to stay close to our angel, didn't we, and I’ve always been a fine hand with the needle.”

Prompto raises a brow at Ardyn, who smooths his face to perfect blankness.

“This won't do, though,” Jenine says. She digs through a cabinet and comes out with a cotton shirt smooth as silk, a pair of briefs, and thin, loose trousers. She plops them in Prompto’s hands and points to a curtain at the other end of the room. “Go in there and change. A friend of Ardyn’s can't go around in rags, can he?”

Prompto numbly staggers over to the curtain. Ardyn follows, hands in his pockets, while Dahlia rushes off for olive bread. The curtain hides a small room with a raised platform surrounded by mirrors, and Prompto immediately strips off his shirt, eager to put on the expensive cloth in his hands.

“Ah,” Ardyn says, and covers his eyes. Prompto ignores him--everyone in their squat changes in front of each other all the time--and luxuriates in the feel of fine clothing over his skin.

“So,” Prompto says. “Angel baby, huh?”

“They're absolute darlings,” Ardyn says, “and I won't hear a word against them.”

“Not from me, anyways,” Prompto says. “I mean it. It's sort of nice, you know? I don't really see that kind of thing at home. Never really had a mom, let alone two.”

“Neither did I, apparently,” Ardyn says. “I’m told I was found on the side of the road.”

“Yeah, but they raised you,” Prompto points out. He finishes tying up his sleeves, and Ardyn lowers his hand. “You're lucky.”

Ardyn smiles ruefully. “I know.”

Then Jenine bursts through the door, carrying a basket, and ushers Ardyn into the corner. What follows is what feels like a day of standing, turning, raising his arms and legs on cue, and trying not to wince when Jenine came at him with a pin. It ends with Jenine despairing over how skinny he is, Dahlia packing an extra loaf of bread in a basket next to Ardyn, and a whole bag of clothes being foisted on Prompto.

“Ardyn,” Jenine says. “I want you to tailor those clothes exactly where I labeled them. No extras. I know how your magic can get away from you when you're flustered, so if you play The Sage’s Ballad before you--”

“Yes, mother,” Ardyn says, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. Prompto smiles again, and Dahlia turns to him.

“I'm glad you're here, darling,” she says. She pats his cheek absently. “We’ve been so worried about our angel after that nasty business with Somnus--”

“Mother!”

“Hush. And he needs a friend.” She looks into Prompto’s eyes. “ _Are_ you friends?”

“Uh.” Prompto stares into Dahlia’s round, worried face. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. The best.”

“Oh, good. Jenine, give them more bread.”

“Uh, I don't know if we--”

Dahlia doesn't seem to notice, however, that the bread basket is close to overflowing already, and manages to shove some raisin buns in the side. She and Jenine push Prompto and Ardyn out the door, but not before they make Prompto walk around in his new leather boots, showing off for the shop attendants.

“Oh, what a dashing figure you'll make,” Dahlia says. “You boys have fun!”

Prompto and Ardyn walk in silence for a moment, staggering under the burden of bread and cloth.

“So,” Prompto says. “I think we’ve just been press-ganged into friendship.”

“They have that effect on one,” Ardyn says. “Worry not. You'll return to your senses soon enough, and I’ll be just as difficult to live with as before.”

Prompto snorts, and Ardyn smiles faintly, hefting the basket in his arms. Neither of them notice, as they navigate the winding city streets, that the shadows in the alleys are a little darker for the time of day. Neither of them hear the soft patter of footsteps following down the street, or the scrape of rough cloth against brick. And they certainly don't see the two young men ducking behind a wagon of flowers outside Ardyn’s shop, examining the jingling door with hunger in their bright, watchful eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Ardyn's home is unnaturally quiet after the chaos of his mothers' shop. The empty sink makes it easy to fill a kettle for tea, and even if the tins do offer helpful advice in small, murmuring voices-- _Steep me for three minutes! I'm best blended! Rose hip! Rose hip! Rose hip!_ \--the shop settles around them as Ardyn sits down, running the seams of Prompto's new clothes between his fingers. The cloth tucks in and sews together in his wake, then folds itself politely on the floor next to his chair while Prompto ignores the insistent chanting of _Rose hip!_ and brews something that smells strongly of jasmine. The wooden dragon raises its head and waddles over to Ardyn like a dog, curling up at his feet, and little metal birds rustle in the rafters, cheeping softly.

"You know, I've never seen an enchanted house before," Prompto says, bringing in the tea. He stops, steam curling around his neck and cheeks. Ardyn has put on a pair of glasses, etched with magical symbols on the sides, but still almost ordinary. It makes him look strange, like a king playing dress-up as a merchant, and Prompto hovers at the door, uncertain.

"I like enchantment spells," Ardyn says, bringing in the seams on a lovely black silk robe. "My true talent lies in war magic. Fire and lightning. Seas boiling. You know. Enchantments aren't particular, though. Anyone can magic a paper bird to fly, or a door to ring when it opens. It's just a matter of applying yourself to the work."

Prompto sets the tea down on the end table next to Ardyn. "My friend has that kind of magic, I think. The lightning." Noct had nearly blown out the windows of a country estate, once, on one of Ignis' more ambitious heists. 

"Gods help him," Ardyn mutters. 

"They probably are," Prompto says. Ardyn makes a face. "So why'd you really do this? This whole... thing, with the apprenticeship."

"I could use an extra set of hands," Ardyn says. "And you _did_ break a fortune of good luck potions."

That isn't the reason, though, Prompto thinks, looking at Ardyn. Just an excuse. It strikes him, then, how Ardyn, the son of bards, has closed himself off in a pleasant, isolated little shop and filled it to the brim with magic, with talking plates and singing birds and a wooden dragon that snuffled like a family dog.

He grabs a chair from the work desk and drags it over, scraping the polished wood floors. Ardyn gives Prompto a meaningful look, and the cabinet door to his ribbon stash rattles ominously.

"Dude," Prompto says, and picks up a set of small copper eggs on the end table, huddled in a nest of glowing wire. "Wanna see some magic?"

Ardyn stares at him, then gestures to the house at large.

"Not like that," Prompto says. He rolls the eggs in his palm. They are strangely warm to the touch. "Like this." He holds them out, twists his hands like a fan, and shows off his bare palms to Ardyn. 

"Ah," Ardyn says.

"Wait." Prompto leans forward and reaches for his ear, and Ardyn actually laughs when his hand comes back empty.

"Huh," Prompto says. "It's gotta be somewhere. Ardyn, check your back pocket."

Ardyn smiles wryly and pulls a copper egg out of his pocket. "Well done," he says. Prompto takes it from his fingers. "Also, I'll need my wallet. And my necklace. And..." He checks his ear. "The ruby earring. Thank you."

Prompto grins as he passes them over. "Fastest hands in the city," he says.

"Helpful with breaking locks, no doubt," Ardyn drawls, and Prompto winks.

"I'm the locksmith, basically." He places the eggs back in their nest, and the dragon flops over, it's tail clacking at Prompto's feet. "Windows, doors, most safes--I'm pretty good with anything mechanical."

Ardyn raises an eyebrow. "Enchanting would be right up your alley, then."

"Dude, I'm enchanting enough," Prompto says, which makes Ardyn laugh again. He has a nice smile, when he isn't arranging his face like a fashion-sideways dark lord in front of an easel. "I'd like a closer look at one of those birds, though, if you don't mind sharing your secrets with a thief."

"We'll do a trade," Ardyn says. He sets aside the last of Prompto's new clothes. "I'll teach you how to make a messenger bird, and you teach _me_ how to break into houses."

Prompto holds out his hand, and when Ardyn takes it, he pulls away with two less rings than before. Prompto slips them on his left hand and holds them to the light, grinning wide. "Deal."

 

That night, as Prompto lies on his new mattress in silk pajamas embroidered with fauns, he wakes to a clunking sound at the trap door. He crawls over, unsteady in the half light of the moon, and opens the door to find the wooden dragon staring at him blankly, tail whipping.

"What's up?" Prompto whispers. The dragon thumps back to the ground, and Prompto hears something stir downstairs, near the workroom. What's Ardyn doing still up? Prompto slides down the ladder and stalks across the floor, cat-quiet, until he comes to the open door to the workroom.

"Oh," he says, looking up. "That's new."

"What the _fuck,_ Prompto?" Noctis strains from his place in the rafters, where fresh green branches have grown from the wood to wrap around his arms and legs. Ignis is trapped beside him, half hanging free, legs kicking uselessly as he tries to wrench at the vines holding his waist.

"Friends of yours?" Ardyn asks. He's standing underneath them, calmly pretending to sip a cold cup of tea, and nods to Noct. "That one's powerful. He's been trying to fight me since I fastened him there."

"Uh, can you... Unfasten them?" Prompto asks. "They're probably here to check if I'm okay. Which I am," he adds, looking at Ignis and Noct.

"Under a thrall, you mean," Noct says.

"Hey, it's free food and an enchanted house. Also, I, uh. May have done a kind of magical contract thing. Maybe."

Noct groans. Ignis glares daggers at Ardyn, since apparently he can't throw them, and stops thrashing long enough to address Prompto.

"Prompto, I know you have a happy medium, but this is a bit much, don't you think? And we need you for the... job," he finishes, glancing at Ardyn.

"And because we don't want your soul sucked out by a wizard," Noct says.

"Oh, is that me?" Ardyn asks. "Because I should note, young man, that there are _two_ wizards present, and only one is untrained enough to cause significant damage." He pauses, waiting for Noct to respond, and sighs. "You. The wizard is you. If you stay here any longer, you'll disrupt half my spells by pure dumb luck."

"I'm not a wizard," Noct says tightly. 

"Very well. A prince, then. Or a lord. You're certainly something," Ardyn says, and the vines start to move, slowly lowering both men to the floor. "And in half a minute, I expect you to be _gone._ The other one can stay," he says, flapping a hand at Ignis, "but you will talk to Prompto outside until you learn some control."

"Con..." Noct throws himself out of the vines' hold, and Prompto rushes to intercept him. 

"Come on, guys," he says. "Outside. You don't wanna see what this guy can do with ribbons."

"Ribbons?" Ignis asks.

"Or spoons. The spoons are the worst."

"I find them highly inventive, personally," Ardyn calls, as Prompto ushers both his friends out the door.

They huddle together under the doorframe for a second, staring at each other, before Noct lunges for Prompto. He wraps his arms around Prompto's head, dragging him close, and nearly knocks them both into the door.

"You have no idea how freaked out we were," he growls into Prompto's ear.

"We thought we'd have to do the palace job without you," Ignis says. Prompto blinks. "The palace job, Prompto. We're stealing the king's standard."

"Holy shit, guys, I thought you were kidding about that," Prompto says. "Look, can it wait? I've made a contract with Ardyn--"

"Prompto," Noct says, taking Prompto's shoulders. "Please."

Prompto closes his eyes. He can never say no when Noct gets all soulful and earnest. "When is it?"

"A month from now," Ignis says. "On the new moon. Meet us at... Midnight, in the usual place. Bring tools."

Prompto nods. His fingers itch, like they always do before a heist goes south, and his mouth is uncomfortably dry.

"And contract or not, you should be able to do what you want," Noct says. "If he tries to keep you there, we can have him up before the king."

"Who we're stealing from."

"Shut up. Details." Noct nudges Prompto in the side, and Prompto nudges him back. "Try and get something nice from His Excellency back there. _Wizards._ " He spits the word out between his teeth, and Ignis and Prompto give each other wary looks. He'll come around to it one day, Prompto thinks. In twenty years, maybe.

"Tell him that if we don't see you soon, we'll be dropping in," Ignis says. "This time, through the roof."

"Sweet," Prompto says. He waves them off, and when he comes back in, he finds Ardyn tipping the leftover tea in the sink.

"I might need time off to be arrested in a month or so," Prompto says. "And the guys want me to visit more."

"So you plan your arrests?" Ardyn asks. "How conscientious of you. The local police must be thrilled."

Prompto grimaces. He remembers the cells of the Insomnian jail a little too well--It's where Ignis had recruited him, back when Prompto was just a punk kid sitting in a corner while a public prosecutor called for him to be sent to the docks. Ignis had walked in, dressed like a young lord and bearing the seals of House Amicitia, and Prompto was free within the hour.

Sort of. No one who works for the king of thieves is ever free, no matter how friendly Ignis can get. There's always a job to do, and there's never enough money to get by. Prompto suspects that Ignis is hiding it for something, but Noct's pretty sure it all goes into bribes and bail. 

"I sincerely hope you don't get arrested, in any case," Ardyn says. His back is to Prompto as he washes out the teacup, broad shoulders blocking the sputtering kitchen lamp. "Good apprentices are rather hard to find, these days."

"No one says I'm any good," Prompto says, rubbing the wooden dragon's smooth, useless wings. 

"Oh, I don't know about that," Ardyn says, glancing over his shoulder with the ghost of a smile. "I'm sure you'll surprise me."


	5. Chapter 5

It takes a week for Prompto to make his first bird. She's a small, fidgety creature, powered more by clockwork than by magic, and when Prompto finishes writing out the complex math of the enchantment on her wings and beak, she flits about his shoulder, purring like a cat. 

"I didn't think magic would involve so much _math,_ " Prompto says one morning, while Ardyn goes through page after page of a waterproofing spell. "I mean, you just wave your hand, most of the time."

"That's inherent magic," Ardyn says. His glasses are slipping off the end of his nose again, and the dragon is asleep on his lap, tail curled around his waist. "And even hand-gestures are part of it. A half circle is an open spell. A triangle traps power. A star summons. Speaking of summoning, where's that breakfast you promised?"

"Outside," Prompto says, and Ardyn gives him a long, weary look. "Where the people are."

"Prompto," Ardyn says. "Not this again."

"We're already all packed up," Prompto says. "Come on, the market's been open for an hour."

Ardyn groans softly and pushes the dragon off his lap, and Prompto runs for the heavy leather bag propped against the door.

The market is all Prompto's idea. Technically, as a registered wizard, Ardyn has a right to one of the empty stalls in the corner of the main market square, but it's been under a tarp for a good five years, and Prompto's been slipping out during errands to clean it up for the better part of a week. He lays out a stack of spells in glass vials on one of Ardyn's least favorite table runners, sets a few birds on the awning to soak up the sun, and doesn't object when Ardyn casts a trap spell on the lot of them, meant to discourage thieves. It's the easiest spell for an experienced thief to break--All Prompto would need is a stone with a hole in it and a handful of table salt--but he decides not to mention it.

Ardyn settles down on the fold-out chair under the awning while Prompto dishes out half-copper buns from the baker's stall. "I take it this is a common haunt of yours," Ardyn says.

"Yeah, it's neutral ground," Prompto says. He points out a group of kids lingering near a jeweler's stall. "That's the Scourge. An old gang--Iggy says they're run by a nobleman--and over there's Cindy and the girls. One girl sells you a flower while the other one robs you blind. I tried talking to Cindy once, and she stole everything I had." He smiles fondly. "It was awesome."

"Oh, dear," Ardyn murmurs.

"She's a goddess," Prompto says. "A _goddess._ "

Ardyn raises his hands in surrender. "Who am I to argue? We'll have to burn incense at her shrine on the way home."

Prompto rolls his eyes, and the bird on his shoulder chitters. Ardyn leans over to pet her under the beak, and she snaps at his fingers, puffing up her copper feathers. 

No one buys anything for an hour, not until Iris Amicitia spots Prompto and rushes over to say hello. She buys one of Ardyn's birds, then calls over a large man in the black livery of the palace to look at the protection spells. Ardyn bristles a little, eyeing the man carefully, but all he does is buy an enchanted ribbon and drag Iris off. After that, they're bombarded by curious customers, people who are surprised to find out that Wizard Izunia's shop isn't actually haunted after all, other shopkeepers who offer Ardyn drinks and samples and suggest he visit on the weekend, when the traveling bards play in the square.

"Oh, I can't miss _that,_ " Ardyn says, and Prompto grins from behind a glass of lemonade.

"There," Prompto says, as they pack up for the afternoon. "That wasn't so bad, right?"

"It was certainly an experience," Ardyn says, but when Prompto suggests that they open the shop for visitors the next morning, he doesn't object.

Soon, the birds that linger at the window are joined by a box of flowers by the garden witch down the street, as well as a fountain of enchanted sand that they can roll around in to bring an extra gloss to their feathers. Prompto bangs open shutters that have rusted shut over the years, installs lamps over the door, and even climbs onto the roof to fix a leak in the attic. His bed gains a new quilt from Ardyn's mothers, he actually changes into new clothes for bed, and at night, the wooden dragon curls up on his chest and wiggles its head, demanding scratches. Ardyn laughs more. The dishes still leer and flirt when he lets them sit in the sink for too long, but Prompto has taught the birds how to whistle in revenge, and Ardyn keeps cursing darkly every time he almost sings along.

Then Prompto heads out one evening, dressed in discreet blacks and greys, and comes back covered in soot and trailing a smudged velvet cloak.

"Oh," Ardyn says, when he finds Prompto knocking weakly on the door. "I take it your little heist went well."

"Sure," Prompto says, in a small voice. "Well." 

Ardyn sighs and wraps an arm around Prompto's shoulder, guiding him into the shop. He sits him down in a rocking chair with a glass of brandy, which Prompto drinks in one go, wincing at the burn rolling down his throat.

"So," he says. "I guess I'm a knight now."

"Are you?" Ardyn raises a brow. "Let me guess. Your dear friend Nordis--"

"Noctis." Prompto clears his throat. "Iggy knew all along. I crawled down a _chimney_ for them, and it turns out Noct's a prince and Iggy's some noble. Then the king knighted me." He gestures to the cloak that the dragon's using as a makeshift nest. "I'm one of Noct's honor guard now. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean."

"Well, you suspected it would happen," Ardyn says, pouring Prompto another glass. "At least there aren't any women throwing out swords from the bottom of a lake somewhere."

Prompto gives Ardyn a haunted look. Ardyn shrugs and picks up his own glass, emptying the decanter. "It's been known to happen."

Prompto nurses his drink and looks to the window. He doesn't tell Ardyn what really happened, standing in the middle of the throne room with Noct, both of them dripping ash as Ignis pulls the knife from the back of the late Queen's killer. He doesn't mention the way Noct squeezes his hand when the king appears at the door, or the king's hard, piercing gaze, the way he seems to look straight through Prompto. He definitely doesn't mention the moment when the king asks Prompto's name, and Ignis says, "Prompto, a--" only for Prompto to interrupt with, "An enchanter in training," voice as level as Ardyn at his smoothest, bowing a little too low. He doesn't mention the way the king's eyes light up, or his soft, passing comment about the crown always being in need of magical aid.

He just drinks his brandy and lets the familiar warmth of Ardyn's shop drift over him, sinking into his bones. After a while, when Ardyn lifts the glass from his unresisting fingers, Prompto grabs Ardyn by the collar and tugs him down. Somehow, well before Prompto stumbled into his shop, Ardyn found the courage to look the kind of fate Noct walked into in the eyes and turn it down. How did he do it? What kind of man can sidestep a destiny that even sweeps up ash-streaked orphans in its wake?

Prompto doesn't say this. Instead, he squints.

"Your eyes match your brandy," he says, and Ardyn sighs.

"Alright, then," Ardyn says, and pulls away, taking Prompto's glass with him. "That's enough for now."

Nothing really changes for Prompto, after that. Not really. Noct does visit a few days later, dressed in a black cloak with a signet ring on his finger, a silver crown in his hair, and he and Prompto sit under the windowbox together and watch the birds take a sand bath. Prompto gets letters from Ignis, who's pleased to have a proper bed at last, and a message from the king, which Prompto throws in the closet for three days before he dares to crack open the seals.

"Sir Prompto Izunia," Ardyn says, reading over Prompto's shoulder. "Oh. Oh dear."

"I can go explain," Prompto says. Ardyn just laughs and pins the commendation to the wall. Prompto catches him staring at it, now and then, mouthing the words silently to himself, but he always turns away when Prompto tries to ask why. 

Two months pass with little fanfare. Prompto learns how to bewitch clothing for Ardyn's mothers, who relentlessly feed him in return. Ardyn actually talks to people at the market. The shop gets regular customers, people who smile and bow at Prompto and call him "The Enchanter Izunia" when Ardyn isn't around, and Prompto can't seem to stop the word from spreading. The customers look at him, surrounded by an enchanted house, working on a clockwork cat for Noctis at the desk, and there's nothing Prompto can say to stop them.

Then, late one night, while Prompto is writing an equation on the inside of the clockwork cat's heart, he hears a knock on the door. He closes the hatch on the cat, which blinks up at him lovingly, and walks barefoot across the foyer to the door. When he swings it open, the man in the doorway doffs his silk hat and sets it on a hook next to Prompto's head.

"Good evening," says the man wearing Ardyn Izunia's face. "I do hope I'm not too late."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned for smut, but this became much tamer when I actually got down to it. Sorry for the rating change, folks!

"Ardyn?" Prompto asks. He takes a step back. The man with Ardyn's face steps forward. His smile is wrong, somehow, colder, harder, and his hair is dark and tied back with jeweled clasps that wink in the lamplight.

"No," he says. "Not quite."

"Ardyn!" Prompto calls again, and the man takes a heavy step into the foyer. He's holding a sword in one hand, a sword that shines with an inner light, beautiful as the crystals that hang in the front hall of the palace.

He takes another step, and Prompto twists his head towards the closet.

"Come on, guys," he says. 

The closet explodes.

Coats and jackets and fine dressing robes slither out of the banging closet doors like the tentacles of a fashionable kraken, wrapping themselves around the man's arms and legs, twisting a knot around the hilt of the sword. Birds shriek in alarm, flitting around his head, and a chorus sings from the kitchen, dozens of plates and spoons and bowls screaming, _Somnus! Somnus!_

"Somnus," Ardyn says, and Prompto backs towards his voice as Ardyn opens his bedroom door, dressed only in his briefs and an open robe. "Really."

"Call these damn things--" Somnus begins to say, but as soon as his mouth opens, a pair of pants shoves itself inside. He doubles over, scrabbling at the cloth, and Ardyn sighs.

"Prompto," he says. "Call them off."

"What?" Prompto blinks.

"You're the one who set the house on him," Ardyn says, and Prompto stares at the cocoon of clothing in front of him. 

"Oh," he says. "Ok. Leave him alone, I guess." 

The clothes slowly disengage, wrenching the sword out of Somnus' grip as they go. The sword skitters into the closet with them, but not before one of the robes whips back a sleeve and slaps Somnus in the back of the neck. He rounds on Prompto, light sparking at his eyes and fingertips, face twisted in rage, panting for breath.

"Hey," Prompto says. "I let you go, dude."

"So you have a lackey now," Somnus says, and Prompto lets out a strangled sound of outrage. "Does this mean you've finally accepted your role in things?"

Ardyn grabs Prompto by the back of the neck and slowly pulls him away from Somnus before Prompto is even aware that he has his sleeves rolled up and his fist clenched. "Somnus," Ardyn says. "Does this _look_ like a hub of the dark powers?"

"It could be hidden," Somnus says. His gaze darts over the room, peering into the shadows. "Who knows what you've been up to, masking yourself from my sight."

"Hold on," Prompto says. "I'm all kinds of lost. Why do you look alike? Who _are_ you? Why the hell would you call me a _lackey?_ "

"Sore spot?" Ardyn asks, smiling.

"Shut up," Prompto says, and Ardyn's smile widens.

Somnus draws himself up, giving Ardyn a cold, distant look. "Clearly you keep your minions in the dark," he says. "I--"

"Oh, fuck no, I've been downgraded to a fucking _min--_ " 

Ardyn takes hold of the back of Prompto's collar again.

"I am Somnus," Somnus says, unnecessarily. "King of kings. Bringer of light. The chosen hero, meant to vanquish the dark--"

"Wait," Prompto says. Somnus scowls at him. "Wait, no. No, that's Ardyn."

There's an uncomfortable silence. Ardyn coughs into his hand.

"But the mermaids said..." Prompto squints at Ardyn, then at Somnus. "You said you used to have a hero habit!"

"I didn't say... What kind of hero habit," Ardyn says, his face flushing slightly. "And, well, all humans look alike to a mermaid, and my brother and I--"

"Oh my gods," Prompto says. 

"That's right," Somnus says, glaring at Ardyn. "You, my poor, misinformed peasant, have been working for--"

"Peasant? Okay, buddy, I'll show you peas--"

"For the _dark lord,_ " Somnus roars, startling Prompto into silence. "Gods, do you people have no respect for the gravitas a final battle between good and evil should have?"

"Not particularly," Ardyn says. He lets go of Prompto and heads for the cabinet. "Would you like a drink? I doubt they let you drink on the Island of the Faeries, or wherever they're keeping you these days."

"Land of the golden tree," Somnus says, and Ardyn waves a hand. "I waited for you on the promised day, Ardyn. I waited for two bloody weeks."

"What a blessed life you lead," Ardyn says, "to have all that time to yourself."

"You can't hide your nature forever."

"That's true enough," Ardyn says. "Evil just runs through my veins, does it not, Prompto?"

"Oh, yeah," Prompto says, rolling his eyes. "You're real intimidating."

"No need to take it that far," Ardyn murmurs, taking out a bottle of wine. Somnus is trembling in the foyer, hands grasping at nothing. "Somnus. Brother, I suppose. It's really a shame, I know, that you were raised by the fair ones. They shouldn't have done this to you. But if you'd like a final battle, I'm afraid you're out of luck. Wine?"

The wine bottle shatters in Ardyn's hand, glass spraying across the floor. Blood wells in a sharp line across Ardyn's palm, and he sighs.

"Would it do if I summon a hell-beast?" he asks. "I'm terribly out of practice, but if it makes you happy..."

"Fine," Somnus says. "Then I'll have to end this now, before you have the chance to rise." He yanks at the handle of the closet door, and Prompto makes a square with his fingers. The door jams shut. "Ardyn," Somnus says. "Tell your man--"

"He's not my man," Ardyn says.

Somnus yanks at the door again. His hands burn with magic, light flowing to his palms, and Prompto whistles. One of his birds, a miniature baby chocobo, drops down from the rafters. Somnus howls and throws it off, staggering back, as Ardyn passes Prompto, a hand on his shoulder.

"That's enough," Ardyn says. "You won't find a glorious death here, Somnus. Go back to the faeries."

Somnus staggers away from Ardyn, falling back under his approach. "If I hear that this town has been corrupted," he says. "If darkness takes hold..."

"Then I'm sure you'll be more than happy to vanquish it," Ardyn says. He takes Somnus' hat from the hook and shoves it over his dark curls. "Go home, brother. I'm sure they're waiting eagerly for word of your triumph."

Somnus stumbles backwards into the dark, and Ardyn slams the door in his face. He makes a gesture with his hand, and the door locks, magic trickling along the frame.

"Well," Ardyn says. "I should have expected that. I've been spending far too much time out in the open, lately."

Prompto makes to move towards him, but Ardyn simply strides to the main room of the shop, waving an arm. The wine lifts from the floorboards and whooshes into the sink, while the broken glass reassembles itself and bounces into the garbage. 

"So," Prompto says. "Dark lord, huh?"

Ardyn shrugs. He sinks into his chair, and the wooden dragon curls up at his feet. "I suppose," he says. He flicks his fingers, and a new bottle of wine appears from the cupboard. Prompto grabs it in mid-air and puts it back. "Prompto," Ardyn says. 

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to... well." Ardyn clears his throat. "It's been three months, as you know, and with this mess with Somnus, I understand if... You do have that new post with the prince--"

Prompto looks down at Ardyn, rolls his eyes, and walks over to the shelf of potions over the workbench. He picks up a bottle of Liquid Courage and raises it to the light.

The sound it makes as it crashes to the floor is deafening.

"Ah," Ardyn says.

"Whoops," says Prompto. He pushes the glass aside and walks back to Ardyn, hands in his pockets. "What do you think that's worth? Another year?"

"At least," Ardyn says, in a slightly dazed voice. Prompto grins and takes the lapels of Ardyn's robe in his hands, sliding the fine cloth down his shoulders.

"So I guess you're stuck with me."

Prompto leans down, one knee on the chair, and kisses the dark lord of Lucis full on the mouth. Ardyn leans into his touch, tugging Prompto the rest of the way into his lap, and kisses him back.

"Well, then," Ardyn says. "I suppose I am."


End file.
